


Indian Country

by clgfanfic



Category: Riptide (TV), War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Vietnam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Vietnam, Nick has a mission with Ironhorse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indian Country

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #13 and later in Boss And Bodacious: Special Collection #1  
> under the pen name Sioned Dannan and Gillian Holt.

Nick Ryder tried to silence the little voice that was whispering in his ear, telling him trouble had just bit him in the ass and wasn't about to let go.  Despite the sense of impending doom, he held his glide path, guiding his Huey closer to the clearing made just for him by a gunship pre-strike.

He checked the residual smoke that drifted straight up in the still air.  No wind direction.  No fire from the LZ.

 _Fuckin' weird_ , he thought.

At a hundred feet above the trees he heard the door gunners open up into the foliage at the edge of the clearing.  No return fire.

_Oh, man… I don't like this…_

He flared close to the ground.  Still no return fire.

_Where the hell are they?_

Nick held his breath, waiting for the lurch of the dismounting troopers as the skids neared the ground.  He could hear them in the back, growling and yelling, psyching themselves up for the coming fight.  An air current swept under the rotors and Nick climbed in response, the Huey wobbling.

Attack.

The enemy sprang their trap just as he rose, opening up from three directions with machine-gun crossfire.  A calm silence settled in Nick's head and the scene shifted to a slow motion film that unfolded from a safe third-person perspective.

He leaned forward and tensed on the controls.  Dirt flew up in front of the chopper as bullets tore into the ground.  The door gunners fired into the trees.  Bullets tore through the Plexiglas, one slamming through his co-pilot's chest, destroying bones and organs.  A fine mist of blood condensed on the inside of the windshield, partially obscuring Nick's vision.

His response was automatic.  The Huey snapped upward and nosed over hard to build speed.  The door gunners continued firing out both sides.  The tracers coming at the chopper looked like raindrops.  Ryder slipped over the treetops, staying as low as he dared for cover.  Veering left, then right, he dodged, hoping to confound the shooters on the ground.

He felt the line of bullets that brought them down, and normal perception returned with the sound of metal being twisted in a frighteningly unnatural way.

Lieutenant Paul Ironhorse looked up as his first-shirt burst into the hooch that served as command and control for the small forward support base.

"We got trouble, L-T," Derriman stated flatly.  "First Battalion's C and D Companies have locked horns with an NVA force that was layin' for 'em."

"Shit," the young officer spat, knowing that his Special Forces unit would be heading back into the bush well ahead of schedule.  He and his men had been looking forward to a couple of weeks at a base, even one as rudimentary as this one.  At least it meant mail, hot chow, prepared bunkers, and no rucksacks kicking their butts for a few days.

Well, so much for a vacation.

"Last word was they're surrounded on a ridge and runnin' low on ammo."  Derriman shook his head.  "Don't know if they're gonna make it, L-T.  Those bastards are breathin' down their necks; no arty or air support."

The battalion commander stormed in.  "Ironhorse, get your men ready to move.  We've got two companies pinned down and we just lost a chopper trying to pick up the wounded.  A and B companies will follow you in as soon as I can get them there."

"Yes, sir," Ironhorse replied, following his sergeant out.

"Draw extra ammo!" the major called after them.  "And the brigade password is Geronimo!"

"How many do we have?" Ironhorse asked Derriman as they headed for the bunker the Special Forces unit had been assigned to.

"Nine," the sergeant responded immediately.  "Maybe twelve if we take the ones with minor injuries."

"No," the lieutenant said.  "It might get nasty out there and I don't want anything slowin' us down."

"Then it's nine, countin' you and me."

"Damn," Ironhorse sighed.  "And the A and B Companies?"

Derriman shook his head.  "In the bush.  They won't be backin' us up for six, maybe eight hours."

"So much for a little R&R, huh?"

"Hell, sir, Special Forces grunts don't rest 'til we're dead."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Saddle up!" Derriman barked, watching seven men scramble for the waiting slick.  He adjusted the M-79 grenade launcher in his grasp and jogged to the chopper with Ironhorse at his side.

The men quickly settled in for the flight, watching a pair of Huey gunships take off with them.  They'd be going in hot.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ironhorse watched the gunships streak ahead, firing rocket salvos into a small part of the jungle, blasting a clearing large enough for the slick to off-load them.  Rockets launched, the gunships swung back around and covered them by raking the surrounding jungle with machine-gun fire.

The Huey's co-pilot stepped into the back and made his way over to Ironhorse.  Squatting down, he shouted over the noise, "We made contact with the chopper that went in after these guys.  The pilot's alive, along with the twelve guys sent it to reinforce C and D Companies.  They're cut off."

Ironhorse nodded.  "Okay, set us down as close as you can.  We'll pick them up, then reinforce C and D."

"Roger," the man said with a smile.  "I was hoping you'd say that.  Lieutenant Ryder's a good pilot, a good man."

"We'll do what we can."

The co-pilot nodded and disappeared back into the cockpit.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ironhorse waited in silence, watching his men as they ran through their usual pre-mission rituals.  The shift in air pressure let them know the chopper was maneuvering to off-load.  He edged closer to the door, watching until they hovered several feet above the ground, his gaze sweeping the area before he signaled his people out.

The soldiers leaped off the Huey and immediately organized, Derriman making sure the men were spaced before they stepped into the dense foliage, heading up a gradual slope.  So far, so good.

Ironhorse's lips pressed into a thin line.  He'd prefer it if he and his men were the company's point element, the rest of the troops creating a right and left file, moving quickly and silently behind them.  But they were on their own.  It wasn't the first time, and he silently requested, _Grandfather, I'd appreciate it if it wasn't the last, either_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Reaching the top of a ridge, Ironhorse signaled a stop to let the soldiers catch their breath.  He took the opportunity to study his map, rechecking their position.  Several hundred meters away, the crash of rifle and machine-gun fire rose to a climax before tapering off.  First Battalion's companies had weathered another assault.  As soon as he had the chopper pilot and the troops he was carrying he'd be back to help them.

"Let's go," Ironhorse said softly, his people silently forming up and heading out.

With luck they'd find Ryder and the others, and make it back to the companies while there were still men left to save.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Nick blinked awake.  Had he actually placed that emergency call, or was that just a dream?

His head pounded, his side burned, and his back screamed in protest at his contorted position.  Releasing his harness, he slid down onto the Plexiglas windshield.  Above him, blood dripped from the mutilated chest of Warrant Officer Buddy Gordon.

Rubbing a circle in the thick, sticky substance, Nick could see they were hung up in the trees.

"Great," he muttered under his breath, then, taking a deep breath, he called, "Hey!  You guys okay?"

"Yeah!" was the response from one of the troopers.  "But we're stuck up in the trees."

A low moan vibrated through the chopper and it shifted several feet closer to the ground.

"Everybody sit tight!  Don't move!" Nick called back.

"We ain't goin' nowhere, Lieutenant," another man drawled.

"You hope," Nick muttered under his breath.

"Hey, L-T!"

"Yeah?"

"We gotta get out of here.  We're right in the middle of Indian country, probably ain't no cavalry on the way.  I saw something movin' out there."

Nick agreed with the sentiment, but how the hell were they supposed to do that?

The Huey moaned again, slipping another couple of feet closer to disaster.  Something was happening, but what?  Were the NVA trying to drag them out of the trees?

A commotion erupted in the back of the chopper.  Nick's breath caught, his heart beating frantically against his ribs.  This was _not_ how he expected to buy it – hanging upside down in the jungle.  It just wasn't… proper.

He looked up, eyes widening as a red-bronze face decked out in black and green war-paint appeared beyond the Plexiglas.  He swallowed hard.

"Lieutenant Paul Ironhorse, Army Special Forces," the apparition stated matter-of-factly.  "Heard you took a wrong turn lookin' for a couple of missing companies."

Nick felt the grin break across his face.  An Indian.  The man was a honest-to-Goddamn Indian.  "You could say that," he replied dryly.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

How Ironhorse and his people had secured the Huey in the trees was a mystery.  Nick squinted up into the leaves, but all he could make out were a few ropes.

"Ready?" Ironhorse asked, obviously enjoying Ryder's confusion.

Nick nodded.  "Appreciate you and your men dropping by."

Ironhorse grinned.  "Just passin' through.  Thought you might like a hand."

With Ryder and the additional troops following, they moved swiftly and silently toward the former U.S. position. 

Ryder followed off Ironhorse's left shoulder, convinced that everything he'd heard about the Special Forces was true.  He allowed himself a small smile.  Only he could go down in Indian country and get rescued by a Indian.  Too bad nobody would believe it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

As they closed on the location, Ironhorse moved forward to point, conducting a quick recon, reading the location with well-practiced ease.  The companies engaged had rapidly become pinned down.  They had dead and wounded, so they'd called for the dustoff and support.  Ryder's chopper was sent in, but he was shot down.  The men were forced to pull back.

He motioned to the soldiers to form up.  It wasn't going to be easy to get the companies out, but then, nothing in the 'Nam ever was.  At least he had twenty-two men to work with now.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          As they moved closer to sounds of shooting, Derriman pointed to a hammock strung between two trees and some low, sandbagged foxholes.  Ironhorse signaled a stop, then motioned the soldiers forward at a crawl.

Creeping up on the position, they found two young NVA soldiers.  Still hidden in the leaves, Derriman barked out an order in Vietnamese.  One of the men reached for his AK-47, but the emergence of Derriman's M-79 through the leaves changed the man's mind.  They both raised their hands in surrender.

Ironhorse and the others swarmed into the site, securing the men and setting up a perimeter.  Not finding anyone else, Ironhorse made his decision.  He left four men to hold the location, then led the rest down another finger of land toward the continuing firefight.

Several yards into the bush, an AK-47 opened up on them.  Ironhorse and his men hit the ground, disappearing into the foliage.  Lying on the ground, Paul reached up to free his rucksack, yanking on the quick release, but it refused to open.  The man behind the AK-47 saw the movement, and tore apart the bamboo over the lieutenant's head with a burst, the rounds making a popping sound like firecrackers as they passed over Paul's head.

Ironhorse gave the release another hard yank and it sprang free.  He rolled the rucksack off his back, the enemy giving him another blast, tearing up the foliage and ground nearby.  His people returned fire, and after the thundering blast of a well-placed grenade they moved forward.

Two soldiers swept down to the left.  One opened up with his rifle, calling back, "Got a squad further down the slope!"  He fired several more bursts while his companion opened up with several 12-gauge fleshette rounds through the dense bamboo.

"Bunch up!" Ironhorse commanded.

The soldiers crawled back until they were in a small, tight huddle in the middle of the natural bamboo walls.  Ryder wasn't sure it was the best idea, but the fire did seem to be going wide of their location.  Then, with Ironhorse leading the way, the group moved off again, moving steadily until a heavy screen of bamboo brought them to a halt.

"Friendlies coming through," Ironhorse said softly after he paused for a moment to listen.   "Don't shoot the reinforcements, you'll piss 'em off."

Pushing through the natural screen, Ryder noticed that there were several rifles pointed at them, behind which were nervous, scared faces. 

"F-fuckin'-A," one man stammered.  "Good thing you s-said s-something."

Ironhorse didn't reply, moving past the perimeter guards toward the rest of the trapped companies.  There was a continuous exchange of rifle fire in all directions. 

Nick heard a _whoosing_ sound to his left and hit the ground again as a B-40 rocket tore by.  Looking ahead, he watched as several small holes were punched through the bamboo by M-16 rounds.  The NVA and their own people were blasting at them.

"Geronimo, you fuckin' shitheads!" Ironhorse bellowed.

Nick's head snapped around and he watched Ironhorse stand and lead the way around the heavy bamboo growth.  Ryder scrambled to his feet and followed.  He wasn't about to let his lucky charm get too far ahead.

American and North Vietnamese dead lay tangled on the ground. Behind some of the American dead rifle barrels tracked their movement.  Reaching the bodies, Nick was relieved to find several American faces looking mighty glad to see them.

"Look at that," one of the men said.  "Geronimo's really leadin' the cavalry!"

Ironhorse, Nick, and the rest of the troops strode in, taking cover wherever they could.  (Ryder wasn't surprised when the companies later said that they were the "guys who came in standing up.")

Nick and Ironhorse found themselves next to a dying lieutenant, who passed the word to send up extra rifles and a bandoleer of magazines for each of them.  They'd found the companies; now the trick was staying alive long enough to help get them out…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Nick reasoned that their arrival must have surprised the North Vietnamese commander, because the fire died off for a while.  Then they launched another assault, the volume of fire increasing to a roar.

Nick cursed a large bush that obscured his line of sight and fired through it blind.  He fired on semi-automatic, deliberately moving the barrel from left to right, and back.  Shouts and explosions erupted all around the perimeter, but they beat back the attack, the ear-shattering noise level dropping off again.

Glancing down, Ryder realized that the lieutenant was dead.  He looked at Ironhorse.  "I'm taking command," the Indian said.

"Yes, sir," Ryder replied.  No way was he arguing with the man.

Ironhorse nodded and turned away to talk quietly with his first-shirt.  A few moments later the word was passed along that, on command, the non-injured were to rush out ten to fifteen meters, expanding the perimeter to something more manageable.

Ironhorse gave the command and Nick raced forward in a half-crouch, half-crawl.  On the far side of the pesky bush was a messy scene.  A half-dozen dead North Vietnamese lay, twisted in various positions.  He watched the Americans remove the Soviet-type machine guns from the dead hands of the North Vietnamese and put them back to work.

Crawling over several of the dead, Nick found cover just as the NVA launched another assault, though it wasn't as determined as before.  The adjusted perimeter held, and the firing died down.

Nick allowed himself a moment of relief, then the ominous sounds of mortars being fired crumbled that relief to fear.  He looked at the soldier closest to him.  Ironhorse's first-shirt.  The man didn't look any happier then he felt.

"Mortars," whispered Derriman.

Nick tried to make himself as flat as possible while the 82 mm rounds reached the top of their arc and fell.  The explosions walked across the perimeter, the third landing nearby.  Nick heard the roar at the same time as he felt the impact and a sharp stinging in his right leg that soon went numb.  He reached down and found his pant leg wet with blood.

"I'm hit," he said.

Derriman crawled over to look.  His hands ran down Nick's shinbone.  "Not broke."  He hoarsely called, "Hotel!" the code word for medic.  A man emerged out of the dust and tied a combat dressing on the pilot's leg.

"You okay?"

Nick looked up, surprised to find Ironhorse lying next to him.  "Yeah.  Think so."

"Short barrage," Ironhorse commented calmly to his sergeant.

"Could be all they had left," Derriman offered optimistically.

"Guess we'll find out."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Time passed at a crawl, but there was no firing, no mortars, and no movement spotted.  Ironhorse passed the word to open the perimeter.  The men staggered into two files and began moving back toward the four men who had been left behind.

Nick found himself near the point of the right file, a soldier he didn't know helping to support him.  The rest of the wounded were also helped along; the unconscious were carried on ponchos.  The dead would have to be recovered later.

Nick hobbled along as fast and quietly as he could, recognizing the perimeter as it came into view.  He and the soldier helping him rushed across the site and took positions next to a foxhole.

As the three companies came in, Ironhorse quickly sorted them out, assigning a section of the perimeter to each.  Each foxhole now had plenty of men.  Nick calculated that a guard tour that night would be less than an hour if they had to wait it out.

About twenty minutes later friendly artillery rounds began falling outside the perimeter.  The first ones scared the hell out of everyone, Nick and the others flinging themselves into bunkers before word reached them that they would be ringed with artillery support should it be needed to break up another enemy assault.

The medivac choppers dropped in after the arty, hovering to take out the severely wounded.  The enemy opened up on the Hueys, but the pilots were able to winch out several of the men on cables.  The ground fire was too intense to try for the walking wounded.

Nick watched the choppers swing off, a cold dread settling into the pit of his belly.  They'd be spending the night.

"How you doing?"

Nick shook off the fear and grinned up at Ironhorse.  "Been better, but it sure beats dead."

"Amen to that," Ironhorse said, handing Ryder an NVA ground cloth that he could use for a blanket.

"Thanks, it gets cold out here this time of year."

Ironhorse nodded.  "Leg hurt?"

"Not too bad."

"Hang tight," the lieutenant told him.  "I'll send a medic over to take a look."

Nick nodded, watching Ironhorse and Derriman make the rounds, joking with the men, encouraging everyone.

The medic arrived several minutes later and checked his leg.  "Looks like a through and through flesh wound, Lieutenant," he said.

"Thanks."

"Let me know if it gets to bothering you."

"I will."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The night passed uneventfully, the troops moving to stand-to in the early morning, everyone at their weapons.  A clearing patrol crept out and carefully circled the perimeter fifty meters out, but found nothing. 

Nick allowed himself to relax a little.  Ironhorse sank down next to him, a smile on his face.

"What?" Nick asked.

The lieutenant nodded to the rucksack in his lap.  "Thought I'd lost it, but somebody brought it along.  My meals are gone, but my personal stuff's still here."

Nick chuckled and shook his head.  "Guess you're just lucky."

"Guess so," Ironhorse agreed.  "Medics are tagging the walking wounded.  Medivacs should be here in twenty."

"Just can't wait to get rid of me, can you?"

"It's that ugly mug of yours," Ironhorse teased.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Nick argued.  "Just be sure you look me up, Ironhorse.  I owe you a drink, or two."

"I'll do that, Ryder.  And make it three."

Nick laughed.  "You're on."

The helicopters arrived right on time.  Nick and the others climbed on board, minus their weapons and ammunition. 

Ryder watched the upturned faces below him as the chopper lifted and headed for the airstrip.  He said a silent prayer for their safety, but with Ironhorse down there he was sure they'd make it out…

The End

 


End file.
